


Unstable Connections

by HannibabestheCannibabes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crazy Will Graham, Hannibal compares masturbation to dining, Hannibal's a dirty liar, M/M, Sex, Sleepwalking, Suggested Will/Alana, Weird psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibabestheCannibabes/pseuds/HannibabestheCannibabes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham's sleepwalking takes an unusual twist as he wakes to find himself at Doctor Lecter's house. Hannibal is more than accommodating, and even develops an incredibly unorthodox method of helping his struggling patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unstable Connections

‘Have you ever considered, Hannibal, that you maybe see Will as more than merely a patient?’ Doctor Du Maurier asked slowly, holding a notebook and pen in hand, yet keeping her attention fixed on the man who sat before her, who raised his head slowly at her question.

‘But of course. I see in Will the potential for friendship.’ He looked at her curiously as he spoke, almost confused at her sudden subject change. ‘But we have discussed this before.’

‘Is it possible you see Will as still more than just that though, Hannibal?’ She spoke slowly, trying to phrase her thoughts correctly, all the while watching for the effect she had on her patient. ‘That you feel more towards Will than you would for a mere patient, or even friend?’

‘I understand what it is that you are asking.’ Her question had had little effect on Dr Lecter; he still sat before her, leant back in his chair, both arms resting on the armrests, both comfortable and awkward at the same time. His defined accent seemed to only add to his uneasy formality, while also adding a gentle tone to him that verged on naivety. To Bedelia, it only made her questioning all the more uncomfortable. ‘Yet, I do not understand your sudden train of thought.’

‘It’s rather less sudden than you’re probably thinking. I mean only to say that you seem to show a…concern for Will that, should I not know you, I would take as more than the concern a doctor shows his patients, or the concern shown to each other by friends.’

‘Except you do know me.’

‘Yes, which is why I’m choosing to ask you, rather than assuming any form of feeling like I would do with strangers.’ She felt she was starting to hit a nerve now. She watched as he shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other in an act that she only interpret as protective. ‘I’m not questioning your professionalism here, Hannibal, nor am I asking as your colleague. I am asking only as your psychiatrist, and only to try and understand you beneath this mask you seem to have…’

‘My concern for Will extends only to assisting him through the clear difficulties he currently faces, both as his doctor and his friend.’

‘And that is truly all there is?’

‘You’re asking if I feel any form of sexual attraction towards him,’ Hannibal stated, returning Du Maurier’s attention with direct, unwavering eye contact, enough to make her break the gaze first, looking away as if embarrassed by her own questioning.

‘Not only sexual attraction, no. Romantic attachment also. Both of these forms of relationship require some degree of personal connection that professional, or even friendly relationships, do not.’

‘I feel nothing of that degree for Will Graham. I can assure you of this.’

* * *

 

It was the sound of a door closing that stirred Will Graham from his sleep. Not even the sound of a door slam, merely the sound of it being closed carefully, yet it was enough to disturb him. However, it was the feeling of hot leather beneath him that was enough to really shock him into waking fully. This is not my bed. Shit. This isn’t even my couch. Shit. Shit. He sat up abruptly, fighting with the light blanket he’d had thrown over him. A blanket? Seriously? Where the Hell am I to fall asleep undisturbed with someone else’s blanket?

‘William? Will, you’re awake. I was hoping you wouldn’t wake before I got back, I didn’t want you to get confused.’

‘Dr Lecter?’ He calmed slightly at the sound of the psychiatrist’s voice, enough to stop struggling on the couch and sit up fully, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he did so. Upon opening them once more, he saw Hannibal knelt in front of him, staring at him as though trying to examine him without unnecessary contact.

At the sound of his name, Hannibal smiled in relief. ‘Yes, Will. Now, do you know where you are?’

‘I’m definitely not at home.’ Will tried to return the smile, yet succeeded only in emphasising the dark circles that surrounded his eyes, and the tired lines on his face. ‘And seeing as you’re here, I’m trusting I’m at yours, but I don’t know how I got here. Or when.’

‘You were sleepwalking.’

‘That’s…ridiculous.’ Will frowned; his head buzzing manically as he struggled desperately to understand what was being said to him. ‘I live an hour away. There’s no way I could have possibly walked here, not sleeping.’

‘Then you’ll understand my confusion when you knocked on my door at 3am this morning.’

‘I don’t…’

‘I found your car parked 2 miles away from here when I was driving back from feeding your dogs this morning. You had no gas; I trust that’s why you chose to walk the remaining distance.’ Hannibal nodded, as if satisfied with his examination of Will, and stood slowly. ‘Come Will, I can prepare you breakfast while we discuss this further.’

‘So, let me try and understand this. I fell asleep at home last night, got up in my sleep, drove here, ran out of gas, parked the car, and then walked the remaining journey to arrive here perfectly safe where I just fell asleep again?’ Will asked, as he sat beside the psychiatrist at his dining table, the breakfast before him untouched in his bewilderment. ‘Is that even possible? How can anyone do all of that while sleepwalking?’

‘People have been known to do many things while sleepwalking, Will.’

‘But driving a car?’

‘Some people have been known to commit complete murders while sleepwalking, yet leave crime scenes completely clean. It is a complex concept, even to modern day doctors. We know so little of the brain that it makes it almost impossible to study,’ Hannibal explained, before gesturing with his fork to the plate before Will. ‘Eat, Will. You need to build your strength.’

He watched as Will took a forkful of food, chewing slowly while continuously shaking his head. ‘But, I’ve never done anything like this before.’

‘And what do you normally do when you sleepwalk, Will?’

‘I walk around, either around my house or generally outside. I usually get found at some point. I’ve never been so far from home before...’ He trailed off, remaining silent for a moment or so, while Hannibal continued to stare at him interrogatively. ‘But this is good, right? That I came here? Surely that’s an improvement.’

‘It could be.’ Hannibal shrugged. ‘You could have subconsciously realised what you were doing and thought of me as a source of stability for you. Or, alternatively, you could subconsciously associate me with the reason behind your sleepwalking which is, I presume, the murder cases. If this is the case, then our relationship could potentially be part of your problem.’

‘But, how do you know which it is? You said yourself that so little is known about this…’

‘I suggest you don’t return home tonight, and instead remain here overnight. I have a spare room you can sleep in, and some clothes I can lend you. You can’t spend all day in your current attire.’ Will shifted uncomfortably as the psychiatrist spoke, as if suddenly becoming aware of the little material he was wearing in only his boxers and damp t-shirt. ‘We have a session booked later, we can continue with that. Then tonight, I can monitor your sleep patterns. Should you continue to sleepwalk, or anything else of the sort, I shall presume that our relationship is not beneficial for your health and I shall suggest a psychiatric referral for you. Now, however, I suggest a shower.’

* * *

 

The doctor stood silently outside the bathroom door, listening carefully to the sound of footsteps in the other room, the metallic click of a tap and finally the rush of water that signalled his guest was securely in the shower. With a sly smile, he returned to the kitchen, taking his phone from a table as he passed, and began to dial.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Doctor Bloom.’

‘Oh God, Hannibal? My God, Hannibal. My God.’ Even over the phone, he could hear the clash of fear and relief in her voice. ‘I’ve been trying to phone you all morning, Hannibal.’

‘I’m aware. I must apologise, I’ve been with a patient…’

‘It’s Will, Hannibal. He didn’t turn up for work this morning, Jack’s going crazy. I’ve tried phoning him, he won’t answer. I’m really worried about him. He’s been struggling more and more with these cases. I thought he might have contacted you.’ She spoke quickly, trying to rush through her speech to hear her colleague’s response. Instead, however, she was met with merely silence. ‘Hannibal? Have you heard from him?’

‘I almost don’t wish to tell you this, Alana…’

‘Hannibal, please.’

‘Will drove here last night, Alana. He’s the patient I have spent the morning with.’

‘He drove to yours? Why? Was it about the case?’

‘He was sleepwalking, Alana,’ he said bluntly, and felt a small smile pass his lips as he heard Alana give a sharp intake of breath over the phone. ‘I don’t want to break doctor-patient protocol, but Will has been slowly developing a sleepwalking problem. Last night, however, was the worst I have ever seen a patient.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘I can’t break patient confidentiality, Alana, you know that.’

‘Is he still with you? I can come and fetch him, take him home…’

‘As his psychiatrist, I have recommended he doesn’t return home quite yet. He will remain with me tonight; it’s the only way I can effectively monitor his sleep patterns.’

‘Oh. Ok.’ He could hear her hesitance over the line, as if confused by the information being relayed to her. ‘Is Will available to talk?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s not.’

‘Will you let him know I’m thinking of him? Tell him I’ll keep Jack away, he can have all the time he wants. I can talk about getting him off the case if you think that’ll help?’

‘I’ll let him know.’

It was at the last sentence that Will finally padded into the kitchen, his hair still damp against his head, dressed potentially more elegantly than he’d ever been before in some of the doctor’s clothes. The sight of Lecter on the phone, he looked up in interest.

‘Who was that?’

Hannibal turned, hanging up the phone in his hand, as he met Will’s gaze momentarily, before the agent broke it off. ‘It was Jack Crawford. He wants me to tell you he expects you back tomorrow to work on the case. He thought your disappearance meant you had a lead.’

‘I expect he was disappointed to hear I’d just gone crazy.’

‘I didn’t tell him about last night, William. I told him you came here to seek my opinion on the killer, to enable to you to build a profile of him more efficiently. I wouldn’t break your confidentiality in that way.’ Will looked up again, as if in slight surprise, and gave a small smile. ‘Now, I believe we have an appointment.’

He liked the look of Will in his office. He liked how he look sat in the leather seats, or how he stood by the ladder, or how he scoured the countless books in the room. He somehow fit so differently in the room compared to any other patient. He couldn’t tell what it was, maybe that Will was closer than any patient had ever been, however unorthodox that was. Or maybe it was simply that he didn’t ask for the psychiatry, he didn’t want to be studied, and that made him fit.

‘We’ve discussed my unfortunate new habit before, I don’t see how talking about it anymore will help.’ Will sat casually laid back in the chair opposite his doctor, well used to the routine now of their conversations.

‘Well this time, I want to take the discussion in a different direction.’ Hannibal sat forward as he spoke, resting his elbows on his thighs lightly. ‘How do you sleep when you aren’t alone, Will? When you’re with another being?’

‘Are you asking me about my sex life, doctor?’ He couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief, yet soon quietened at Hannibal’s silence. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not sleeping in anyone’s company at the moment.’

‘And in the past?’

He frowned, before looking around awkwardly. ‘You know, I’m not entirely comfortable discussing this with my psychiatrist…’

‘Then don’t discuss it with a psychiatrist.’ Hannibal sat back again, relaxing back into the leather. ‘Discuss it with a friend.’

‘How about you discuss yours with a friend, Doctor Lecter?’

‘Would that help you, Will?’ Hannibal smirked slightly as he watched his patient blush lightly under his gaze. ‘I don’t have a great deal to discuss, sex as an act does not particularly interest me.’

‘At all?’

‘No, I do not have a complete disinterest, or any form of disdain for the act. But neither am I the animalistic rage of hormones that some men are, that allow them to be manipulated and disgraced in the pursuit for sexual release.’

‘But, surely everyone possesses that need for…release? Sometimes? However rarely…you need…something?’

The psychiatrist cocked his head curiously as Will attempted to awkwardly stammer out his question. When he answered, however, his voice was as smooth as ever. ‘To me, Will, sex is almost the equivalent of dining. When you dine, you are clearly hungry, and require food to satisfy your biological want. However, to satisfy the craving you needn’t have company. In fact, having the wrong company can spoil a meal. You can resent your guest for altering your dining speed, for needing the food catered to suit them, for not truly appreciating what in your eyes is a good meal. In these situations, you can dampen both the experience and your relationship by dining together. Alternatively, the right company when eating can enhance the experience, to the point where the food itself feels more fulfilling as it has been shared and enjoyed. Either way, it is the company that matters most. This is the same for sexual relations.’ He paused momentarily, as if allowing Will the time to mull over his words. ‘You feel the same.’

He looked up, shaking his head. ‘I’d really love to support that theory, but I hardly have the…experience to agree.’

‘No, you don’t, because you also struggle connecting enough with anyone to experience personal relations.’

‘I’m not the one who struggles.’ Will stood, his voice almost bitter, as he walked away from the doctor, running a hand through his hair almost aggressively.

‘You’re referring to Alana Bloom’s rejection.’

‘I wouldn’t be good for her, apparently. And she wouldn’t be good for me.’

‘And she’s right. You do not suit each other.’ Will turned to frown as Hannibal shrugged. ‘I can only say what I truly believe, Will. You would not be good for Alana, maybe more so than she would not help you. Alana does not see you as a person, Will, much less a potential sexual partner. To Doctor Bloom, you are merely an experiment. A butterfly under a bell jar. Beautiful, yes, yet the more she wants to gaze at you, the more she can only see you as a specimen to study. And the more you struggle to be seen as something else, the more interesting a study you provide her.’

He smirked mockingly at Lecter while he spoke, yet the mocking seemed to carry some element of surprise at the doctor’s thinking. ‘And how do you see me?’

‘As a person. A person who is scared.’

‘Because I’m sleepwalking, and sweating, and seeing murders every time I close my eyes? Yeah, I think I have right to be scared.’

‘That is not why you are scared though, Will. You don’t fear what these cases are doing to you. You fear others finding out what these cases are doing to you. Even in these sessions, I feel you do not share everything. I am your psychiatrist, yet you don’t even trust me with the true extent of what you’re experiencing.’ Hannibal stood, and began to approach his patient, who still stood a distance away in the large office. ‘It is that fear that makes it so difficult for you to connect with anyone. And if you cannot connect emotionally, you cannot engage with anyone either sexually or romantically.’

‘Maybe I just can’t. Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe it’s nothing to do with fear, or connection, or study, maybe I just don’t have the ability to be anything more than…’ Will said quickly, almost exasperated, as the doctor approached him. He let himself trail off in thought, desperate to find the exact way to explain himself, then eventually sighed, putting his hands up in defeat almost. ‘Maybe I can only be unstable Will Graham.’

He was expecting Lecter to sigh, or shake his head, yet he merely chuckled to himself. ‘You are much, much more than that, William. I can’t claim to have known you long, yet you have demonstrated much more to me than mere instability. I believe psychiatrists can set work for patients, is this correct?’

‘You’re the psychiatrist.’

Another low chuckle. ‘Very well, Will. I want you to connect with someone.’

‘You’re setting me the task of having a one-night stand?’ Will straightened, a look of pure confusion on his tired face. ‘Surely even a psychiatrist as unorthodox as you wouldn’t do that?’

‘Nothing as crude or meaningless as that, no. I want you to find someone you can engage with. Truly engage, as you struggle to do, which is in both a physical and emotional way. You can search in bars, if you think that is how you will find someone adequate. Or you can search closer, in less obvious places. I want you to be able to trust them, to be open with them, offer yourself as you don’t to others.’

‘Like a relationship?’

‘You have some type of relationship with everyone who surrounds you. Maybe it is a case of building on one of those. Maybe it is establishing a new relationship. It is just replacing your fear of connecting with others, lest they discover your own feelings of instability, with a degree of control, and choosing to make that connection.’ He reached past Will to take a scrap of paper and pen from the desk behind him, brushing lightly against his figure as he did so. He wrote one word in the centre of the paper, folded it, and held it for Will to take. ‘I want you to choose someone you can be as close to as you need to be. Remember, when dining, the wrong company can spoil the food.’ Will took the paper curiously, and Hannibal circled the desk and sat down in his chair. ‘You can sleep in the spare room tonight, William, I would not make you take the couch for two nights. I shall be in here until late evening, if you require me.’

* * *

 

Will had read the paper. He opened it once he left Hannibal’s office, and the singular word had confused him then. Alana. He’d wanted to walk straight back in, slam the paper on the desk and demand some form of explanation. Alana? The woman who studied him like…what? A butterfly in a bell jar. Why would he write that down? Encourage him to do what? Connect with her? Trust her? After he told Will that Alana would be the worst person for him. It made so little sense. So little sense that he tucked the paper into his pocket, and took it out every few minutes to stare at it. It’s not impossible. She clearly felt something. It wouldn’t be crazy to step away, and just spill everything. Everything I’ve ever wanted to say. All the things I’ve ever wanted to do with her. That wouldn’t be too crazy. He sat all afternoon in Hannibal’s spare bedroom, his eyes not moving from the folded paper. Hannibal’s locked himself away in his office. He gave me this room for the night so I’m not alone. But seeing Alana would mean I wasn’t alone too. We could both be satisfied.

All was silent as he approached the door that night. For the first time in a while, he truly felt in control. Truly and completely in control. It was him making this decision, him who was making his feet step closer and closer, and as a result he could feel everything. He could feel the sweat building on his brow, and his heart pounding double speed in his chest. There was no blurring, no doubt. He had pure clarity. This was right.

A knock on the door. He heard the footsteps from within, and the door was pulled open in a way that Will knew instantly, without knowing how he knew, that he had been expected. This was no surprise.

‘I don’t want to be a butterfly in a bell jar. I don’t want to be some study for a paper that will be written when I no doubt come to an untimely death because I let myself get too close to a case. I want to be human. I want to be a person.’ He paused, looking directly into the eyes of the doctor facing him. ‘I don’t want Alana Bloom. I want you, Hannibal. I want to be able to connect with you.’

The speed of his speech increased the more he spoke, allowing Hannibal to guess what Will was building to, making him more than prepared for Will’s lips against his own, and the agent’s hands reaching around his neck and through his groomed hair. He couldn’t help a sly smile as he tasted the whisky on the other man’s lips, and realised he’d found the bottle that Hannibal had carefully planted in the bedroom earlier. It was only moments before Hannibal broke off, stepping back, as Will stood, his face a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment at the apparent rejection. However, the doctor merely smiled, and gestured to the empty office behind him.

‘Please, Will, do come in.’

* * *

 

‘You haven’t mentioned Will Graham at all in our past two sessions.’ Bedelia frowned lightly as she looked at her patient opposite. ‘Considering our previous conversation, I find this highly unusual.’

‘There is very little to tell,’ Hannibal replied, shrugging casually. ‘Together, Will and I have developed a therapeutic technique that helps lessen both his sleep-walking and his nightmares.’

‘That’s impressive.’ Du Maurier nodded before leaning forward slightly. ‘I trust however, knowing you Hannibal, that it’s rather unorthodox?’

‘Highly unorthodox, yet clearly successful.’

‘And have you further considered our previous discussion about Will?’

‘About my feelings towards Will Graham?’ He remained emotionless as he spoke, yet the faintest hint of a smirk passed over his lips momentarily, unnoticed by the other psychiatrist. ‘My feelings for Will are entirely appropriate for the relationship I hold with him, you can be assured of that.’


End file.
